


Communication

by septiplier500



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, M/M, Masochism, Pain Kink, Painplay, Safe Sane and Consensual, Slapping, Subspace, Top Drop, blood play (minor), erotic crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septiplier500/pseuds/septiplier500
Summary: “Yer all flushed,” Jack remarks, his voice lofty now; the adrenaline’s probably washed away some of his earlier anxiety.
“Probably has something to do with getting the shit smacked outta me,” Mark laughs.
-
Jack is new to all this, but Mark is a patient sub.





	

When Mark opens his eyes, his world is one of complete darkness: he can’t even make out the texture of the blindfold he’s wearing. Licking his lips, Mark leans his upper body forward, testing how far he can lean with his arms tied to the back of his chair; not far. His legs are completely immobile, tied to the chair’s sturdy wooden legs all the way down to his ankles, though he can tap his feet if he wants to. He’s naked except for a pair of boxers, and the a/c is cranked up enough that Mark can feel his nipples getting harder, skin pebbling tight.

“Jack?” he whispers, trying to sound casual. If he subs out too quickly, Jack gets anxious.

The first smack catches him from the right. The aim is a little off, Jack’s hand mostly getting his scruffy jawline instead of his cheek, and Mark can’t stop his head from snapping to the side as pain bursts across his skin.

“That was good,” Mark pants, licking the corner of his mouth. “Little higher next time.”

“Sor- yeah, okay,” Jack says, stopping just short of apologizing, and Marks feel a warm stirring of pride in his chest. He touches the mark that’s no doubt marring Mark’s skin already, his fingers shaking a little, and Mark turns his head to kiss his fingertips.

“Love you,” Mark whispers.

Jack hits him again on the same side of his face, this time landing his palm full against Mark’s cheek. Mark holds back his shout, head tipping back as he processes the pain and soaks in it for a long minute. He can already feel his thoughts going fuzzy.

The third smack comes before Mark’s done wallowing in the second, covering the entire left side of his face and whipping his head in the other direction. The forth follows immediately after, turning his face again, and Mark chokes on a groan. “More,” he rasps, “Please.”

“ _Mark_ ,” Jack murmurs, his voice a wreck, and for a moment Mark thinks he won’t do it. But the slaps start back up and don’t stop, Jack utilizing both hands; Mark lets his head snap back and forth, drooling a little when his mouth falls open and he can’t remember how to close it again, white-hot pain erupting all over his face and jaw. When Mark starts yelling, Jack grabs the hair on the back of his head and yanks his head back, forcing him to arch his chest so Jack can smack his pecs.

Mark curls his toes against the floor, unable to fidget as Jack rains blow after blow over his nipples. He hits Mark’s stomach every so often just to keep the pain from becoming too predictable: hard, back-handed strikes that have a pretty good chance of welting on his abs. Mark fights down the instinct to struggle against Jack’s hold on his hair, knowing that doing so would only spook his boyfriend.

“Don’t hurt your hand,” Mark warns hoarsely, “Take a break if you need to.”

Jack doesn’t answer, but the blows come to an abrupt stop. He’s still holding Mark’s hair, fingers twisting tighter in the lank strands to better his grip. “Yer all flushed,” he remarks, his voice lofty now; the adrenaline’s probably washed away some of his earlier anxiety.

“Probably has something to do with getting the shit smacked outta me,” Mark laughs.

“Hm,” says Jack. He gets one of Mark’s nipples between two fingers and twists, chuckling lowly when Mark hisses through his teeth. He hurts him like that for awhile, alternating between plucking and tugging, worrying the pebbled flesh with the edge of his thumbnail until Mark’s shivering and keening.

He’s so fucking hard it hurts.

The slap to his mouth comes as a total surprise. Jack moves his hand away from Mark’s chest while Mark’s still reeling at the last hard tug to his nipple, and before Mark can catch his breath, Jack’s hand is smacking down across his open lips, pain hitting his nerves like lightening, bright and all-consuming. Mark can taste blood, metallic and tangy, but doesn’t risk licking his lip to check the damage in case Jack intends to hit him again.

“Yer _bleedin’_ ,” Jack says, but he doesn’t sound nervous like Mark expected – instead, he sounds raw and wondering, and Mark aches with the need to see his face. His fingers touch Mark’s agonizingly tender lips, gently feeling over skin that stings even more sharply than the rest, probably where it’s been split.

Mark licks at his fingers, unable to articulate verbal reassurance or praise.

“ _Jesus_ , Mark,” Jack whispers, “You should see yourself.”

Mark feels Jack nudge a knee between his thighs so he tries to open his legs as much as he can manage with how he’s bound, unable to stop himself from arching his crotch when Jack settles his knee flush against him on the chair. He mouths Jack’s name against his fingers, kitten-licking to show his desperation.

“You still want me t’ hit you?” Jack asks, using his hold on Mark’s head to tip it back even further. Mark can feel Jack looking down at him even if he can’t see it, the weight of his gaze like a rough hand on Mark’s bare skin.

Mark swallows, struggling to catch syllables as they slide heedless through the blissful almost-nothing in his head, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah,” he rumbles faintly.

Jack yanks his head back as far as physically possible, tears springing up in the edges of Mark’s shielded eyes as his scalp burns with the rough treatment. Jack smacks him across his bared throat, and Mark chokes on a shout, shuddering all over. He hits his face again, back-handing him there for the first time, and flips his hand around to strike the jolted skin with the flat of his palm as well.

He keeps hitting him, quickly moving on to his chest again, hitting over welts that haven’t yet stopped throbbing. He slaps his already bruised nipples, one after the other and back again, and Mark finally screams, thrashing as much as he can physically manage, hips lifting to buck against Jack’s knee. Jack’s mouth crushes over his own, muffling some of his shrieks, and Mark licks at his mouth desperately, blood hot and tacky between their lips.

Mark doesn’t come back to himself until Jack’s already fumbling around with his bindings, stripping them off with clumsy earnestness. Mark sways without them holding his slumped body in place, but Jack puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Hey,” Mark exhales, his voice weak and reedy, and smiles.

“Hey yerself,” mumbles Jack, and Mark leans into him as Jack makes quick work of the blindfold, tossing it aside while Mark blinks some of the lingering tears out of his eyes. His whole face is wet – he must have been sobbing for awhile. “Jesus, yer a _mess_ ,” Jack says, and his hand is shaking as much as Mark is as he starts to wipe away some of the tears.

“That’s why we recorded this week’s videos in advance,” Mark murmurs, and he can feel the way talking is tugging at the splits in his lips.

“Gonna take more'n a week t’ heal all this up,” Jack says, looking him over and obviously fretting. “ _Fuck_ ,” he growls under his breath, a deep crease gathering between his brows, “I shouldn’t a’ hit you so hard.”

Mark feels the edge of a drop tugging at his high, but he ignores it, feebly reaching up to pat at whatever parts of Jack he can reach. “It’ll be fine,” he says soothingly, “Quit worrying like a little bitch.”

Jack laughs, but it’s strained. “M'sorry,” he says, cringing and rubbing his nose, “Yer th’ one that just _subbed_ an’ here I am freakin’ out.”

“Hey,” Mark says firmly, managing to catch Jack’s arm and bring it down towards himself, “Jack, relax. That was as intense for you as it was for me. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side and cringing as every muscle in his upper body twinges in protest. “I definitely need up out of this chair though.”

Jack nods, obviously trying to get his shit together, and helps Mark up from the chair. Clutching at each other they make it into the bathroom and Jack has a look at the blood-beaded welts on Mark’s chest and stomach, cleaning up the handful that have actual split skin. Mark watches him the entire time, dazed and tired and deliriously happy, until Jack reminds him he’s still wearing the boxers he came in.

Afterward they get into bed, Mark clean, exhausted, and drinking gatorade or powerade or some shit like that from a water bottle. Jack cuddles up behind him beneath the covers, carefully tucking an arm around an unblemished part of his waist.

“You were fuckin’ gorgeous,” Jack says into his neck, mindful of the mark on his throat, “I didn’t expect you to come without me touchin’ you.”

“You _were_ touching me,” Mark chuckles, abandoning his drink on the bedside table. “I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”

“That was crazy.”

“I didn’t think you had it in you, honestly,” Mark says, and he slides a hand over Jack’s on his tummy, lacing their fingers. “I’m glad you do,” he adds.

“I’m glad you trust me that much,” Jack mumbles, sounding as exhausted as Mark. “I’ve never had that much power over somebody before. It was scary, but it was _good_ , cus I knew what you wanted me t’ do, an’ I knew how much you wanted it.”

“I’d kiss you again, but my mouth is killing me,” Mark says, too tired to laugh but not too tired to smile even though doing so stings. He drifts, eyes mostly shut, on the warm cotton still in his brain, the constant throb of pain that’s pulsing through his body matching the beat of his heart.

“I love you too, y'know,” Jack says in the dark, his mouth on Mark’s ear. “I didn’t say it earlier cus I didn’t want you t’ hear how scared I was. But I love you, more'n anything else in th’ world.”

“I heard you say it,” Mark says faintly, yawning, “Loud and clear, in every slap.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable version on Tumblr: http://septiplier500.tumblr.com/post/153488914422/communication (Maybe give my blog a look and consider following, eh?)


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